


And Miles to Go ...

by cjulina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjulina/pseuds/cjulina
Summary: Which quest is this? I think you know. The Quizzy saves a druffalo.Written for the 2016 TMB Secret Santa gift exchange.





	

"Let's play a game."  Varric grinned as his palm tapped out a steady eight beats on his thigh.  "Give me words that rhyme with twit.  Extra points for one with three syllables."

"Evelyn," Bull supplied dryly.

Dorian gave an inelegant snort.  "He asked for words that rhyme, you dolt, not words with the same meaning."  He raised his voice so the Inquisitor could hear him from where she was leading a druffalo through sweeping banks of snow near a frozen lake.  "Although, given our current circumstance, I doubt anyone would deny that Evelyn is an appropriate synonym for twit."

She responded with a rather rude gesture but otherwise ignored the men trailing behind her.

Bull hummed thoughtfully.  "Words that rhyme with twit?  There's quit and split, which is something we should seriously consider.  Also hit.  Slit is another good one."

"I'm rather partial to half-wit, nitwit, dimwit," Varric added.  "Keeps the theme of twit going."

Dorian opened his mouth, ready to add to the growing list of rhymes.  Instead he began to shriek irritably.  "Shit!  Shit, shit, _SHHHHIT!_ "

With a hearty laugh, Bull said, "We heard you the first time.  No one is about to deny that shit rhymes with twit except, maybe, the twit herself."

Dorian threw him an affronted scowl as he frantically rubbed one of his boots against any abrasive surface he could find.  "I'm not playing the rhyming game," he huffed.  "I am commenting on the fact that I just stepped in druffalo crap!"  He looked down mournfully at his formerly immaculate footgear.

"Oh Evelyn," Dorian called out in a singsong cadence that ran counterpoint to the ting-a-linging from the bell harness of the provider of said shit.  "I have another item for the list of things you owe me for my agreement to accompany you on this asinine side quest."

With a much aggrieved and resigned voice, she asked, "What now?"

"In addition to two cases of the very finest Antivan brandy, better quarters in Skyhold, your word that I will _not_ have to attend the ball at the Winter Palace.  I've had a lifetime of despair-tasting ham, thank you very much."  He thoughtfully tapped a finger against his chin.  "Let's see.  What else was there?  Oh yes, I've already written out the list of books I require and the specifications for a new set of battle robes.  Now," he said while continuing to eye his stained footwear, "thanks to that Maker-forsaken beast, you owe me a new pair of boots.  I'd like them made with premium Snoufleur leather and lined, I think, with the softest Fennec fur.  Only quality stitching, mind you, and dyed to perfectly match the new robes."

Evelyn tapped her foot impatiently.  "Yes, fine.  Whatever."  She swept her arm towards the lumbering druffalo.  "Can we get a move on before we risk losing him?"

"That beast? asked Varric with a chuckle.  "A tortoise could outpace him."

The Inquisitor turned with a glare, grabbing the rope lead in her hand and tried to dramatically stalk off.  She was hindered by having to wait for the plodding creature to catch up with her.

For a rather long stretch, the only sounds heard were the crunch and squelch of boots treading through melting snow, the thunderous wheezing from the druffalo, and Varric's palm slapping out a steady eight beats on his thighs while his lips formed soundless words.  Eventually his palm slapping turned into a rather monotonous humming.

hm HM hm HM hm HM hm HM  
hm HM hm HM hm HM hm HM  
hm HM hm HM hm HM hm HM  
hm HM hm HM hm HM hm HM

With each repetition, Evelyn threw him increasingly testy scowls.  She finally reached her limit when he began a fourth round.  "Varric!"

"Hm?  What?"

"If you're going to insist on humming, can't you at least pick a catchy tune?"

He looked slightly bashful.  "Sorry, Birdie.  Didn't mean to kindle your ire."  His eyes widened suddenly.  "Kindled Quizzy's ire.  I need to jot that down."

While he busied himself by digging through his satchel, Evelyn's eyed him distrustfully.  "If you're scrawling down ideas for your next book, you can stop right now.  I forbid you to include this," she said with a hand wave towards the druffalo, "in any book about me."

His expression was innocent, far too innocent, as he scratched a quill across a bit of parchment.  "You shame me, your Inquisitorialness.  On Bianca's honor," he pressed his hand on his beloved crossbow, "I give you my word that this adventure shall never appear in any _book_ I write."

"It'd better not," she replied determinedly.

The party trudged on in silence for a while until Dorian spoke up.  "Evelyn, remind me again what our orders were."

Her intonation was steady, with the easy cadence of something she had repeated frequently.  "To kill some demons, close a rift, and find out what we need to do to secure the horses from Master Dennet." 

"So why are we slogging through woods filling up with hideous snow instead?"

"Because I'm kind and benevolent."

His tone was particularly schoolmarm-ish when he retorted, "Try again."

"Because I'm dense and gullible and far too eager to please."

Dorian gave a satisfied nod.  "Precisely.  If we had stuck to the original plan, it would have been a day's work at most with more than enough time to get back to Skyhold for Satinalia.  Thanks to you, Evelyn, we're missing out on hot toddies, figgy pudding, unwrapping ..." Dorian slyly eyed Bull.  " _presents_."

Bull wasn't nearly as sly with his ogling of the mage.  "I'm rather partial to bobbing for _bananas._ "

"Wrong holiday _and_ type of fruit, Tiny, but we get your point."  Varric turned away from the two men who were now busy eye fucking each other.  "If you had listened to us, Evelyn, and told that hapless farmhand no when he asked you to look for his brainless beast, you could be in Curly's office right now doing your own unwrapping and bobbing."

Her cheeks flushed dark enough to rival the red berries that were used as Satinalia decorations.  She opened and closed her mouth several times while trying to come up with a snappy retort.  Admitting defeat, she tugged on the rope lead, finally getting the druffalo to continue his bumbling gait towards the farmlands.

Another hour passed with only the sounds of Varric's repetitious humming, the crack and clatter of melting icicles crashing to the ground, and an occasional rumbley noise to break up the monotony.

_Rumble ... rumble ...  gurgle ... rumble ... GROWLLLLL_

"What is that noise?"  Evelyn was testy again (still).

Bull patted his belly.  "Sorry, it's past lunchtime."

"Well, eat something.  There's plenty of hardtack and cheese in your pack."

"Don't want it."  He looked over at the druffalo.  "You know what would be really tasty right about now?"

Through gritted teeth, she ordered, "DON'T SAY IT!"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her.  "A steak.  Or a nice juicy roast.  I could even go for some meaty druffalo ribs."

Evelyn threw her arms out dramatically, standing as a tiny barrier between the druffalo and the Qunari.  "You will not eat Daffodil!"

The three men could barely stay standing from their vigorous belly laughs.

"You did _not_ name that mangy smelly druffalo 'Daffodil'," Varric eventually chided.

Her feelings mortally wounded, she snapped back, "Not everyone has your talent for nicknames."  She gave a deep sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat.  "Look, I know I made a mistake.  I shouldn't have agreed to find Daffodil when there's so many other _dire_ things needing our attention.  Do you think we can have a truce on the needling, sniping, and insults?  We're nearly half-way there and once we get back to Skyhold, the first and last rounds are on me, as well as all the rounds in-between.  It's the least I can do to make it up to you."

"Evelyn?"

She smiled sweetly.  "Yes, Dorian?" eager for his apology for being such a rat bastard all these miles.

"Do you realize that Daffodil has wandered into a field of briars?"

Evelyn performed a perfect double-take.  "No, no, no.  Noooo!"  She scrambled in after the animal, an explosion of creative curses accompanying her charge into the field.  She grabbed the rope lead with a triumphant cry which soon turned to grunts of exertion as she attempted to drag the druffalo back to the path.

"A little help here," she pleaded.

Bull studied her form for a moment, tilting his head to first one side and then the other.  "Put more muscle into it."

She dropped the lead so she could respond with rather crude gestures, using both hands this time.

He laughed while handing his pack over to Dorian.  "Move out of the way, Evelyn."  He took in a deep breath, bent half over and took a running charge at the stubborn beast.

None of the comrades could decide if it was Bull's thunderous roar or the sight of a Qunari barreling towards it but the druffalo soon lost interest in lunching on the spikey briars.  It sprinted out the field, past Dorian and Varric and was well down the path before Bull had even come to a stop.

With a proud grin, he said, "I bet it'll be hours before Daffodil slows down."

"With our luck, you're probably right," Varric answered sourly.

Dorian was none too gentle as he threw Bull's pack back to him.

"Why are you upset?"

Evelyn grinned broadly, happy to let Bull take her place in the doghouse.  "It would have helped if you'd made sure the druffalo was pointing in the right direction.  By now he's halfway back to where we found him three days ago."

 

 

Shortly after the party returned to Skyhold (a full tenday after Satinalia), copies of the following appeared on every available surface:

 

                        The Quizzy paused to lend a hand,  
                        despite threats in the Hinterlands.  
                        Her comrades thought her quite a twit  
                        to get sidetracked from their commands.

                        The Iron Bull proposed a pit,  
                        to roast the beast upon a spit.  
                        The notion kindled Quizzy's ire  
                        and so they trudge through snow moonlit.

                        Thank Maker there was nothing dire  
                        like rifts or bears or bandits' fire.  
                        So Varric wrote the tale in ink  
                        as on they marched through stabby briars.

                        And though the world is on the brink,  
                        this beast will make it home, I think.  
                        And miles to go behind this stink,  
                        And miles to go before we drink.

 

See Evelyn?  As promised, your misadventure _did not_ appear in a book.  I never said anything about a poem.  
                        ~Varric


End file.
